Communication
by Soulreciever
Summary: In the cold light of day the chill imprint of that kiss upon his cheek had felt an awful lot like goodbye. Slash.


Communication.

T: What can I say? That parting kiss inspired me enough that I wrote this little piece! Also I may be a newbie to the fandom but I'm an old timer as far as goes so don't be afraid to give me a little constructive criticism. Follows the movie time line and the main bulk of the story is set about ten years after Billy leaves for the dance school…I believe this makes the boys 21 but I could be wrong on that! I own nothing you see here apart from the plot.

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He'd spent the evening of Billy's departure walking on air, something that his father had noted and that he'd managed to dismiss with the simplest of lies.

In the still chill of 'the morning after', the kiss that had inspired such levity had mired him deep into depression.

For the brief, innocent, contact had felt an awful lot like a final farewell.

As a severing of their friendship.

He'd not had long to linger on the utter misery of that revelation, his life, unlike the life of the boy who owned his soul, was bogged sown still by the routine of life within a mining town.

Indeed he'd become buried enough in studies that he'd not thought about the kiss, about the one who'd given him such a precious treasure, until he'd happened to bump into Tony while walking home from school.

The other had greeted him in his usual manner and after exchanging a few aimless anecdotes, the other had asked the question that would become as a familiar thing to him over the next few weeks.

"Its great news about our Billy, ain't it?"

He'd claimed ignorance and Tony had shrugged his shoulders and said,

"He's been offered a top part in the schools next production, something that's rare for the newer students apparently.

"I'm sure he was gonna tell you, everything's been a bit rushed recently and most like it slipped his mind."

It'd made sense at the time and he'd smiled, thanked the other for the news and carried on his way home.

He'd allowed the excuse the second time someone had pushed him to talk about Billy's progress at his new school, because it had seemed the most rational explanation.

The third time…the third time he'd recalled the terrible finality in that kiss and, plastering a smile on his lips, he'd retorted,

"He's forgotten me is more like…moved on to a better life and friends of a class I could never reach."

After that they'd stopped talking to him about Billy all together and slowly the memory of the kiss, of the one whom had given it to him, had faded all but completely.

He'd grown up, used what meagre talent he could claim to life him free the stagnation of his home town and he'd let go the lies at last…

Had begun to live his life the way he wished to live it rather than the way that others had wised him to.

It was a choice that had divided him from his father and thus from the last connection he'd had to the town of his birth and the memories walled within it.

He'd not regretted the choice though, not for one single moment.

………………………………………………………………………..

"Are you even listening?"

"Listening to what?" He enquires, flashing his companion a bright smile before he says, "I'm teasing Rosie, I wouldn't dream of ignoring news such as this."

"You're happy for me then?"

"Of course! You've been chasing Richard for almost a year, after all!"

"I'm glad." She lifts her glass up and, after swirling the ice cubes around a moment, she remarks, "We'll have to find you some now."

"We've talked about match making, Rosie."

"I'll feel guilty leaving you in the flat on your own and anyway you might find that you actually enjoy yourself."

"Or I could just end out being disappointed again." He reaches for a cigarette and manages to get the thing balanced in his mouth before his flat mate steals it away.

"We've talked about smoking, Michael."

"Yes 'mother'."

"I'm pretending you didn't say that." She remarks as she drops the cigarette down her blouse.

"I could get it back you know."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh no?"

The situation escalates then into a tickling match which Rosie eventually stops when she gently pinches his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"Turn around."

Following the instruction he is met with a small group of men of approximately his age.

They are all of the toned, willowy, nature that is typical to dancers and are handsome enough that, had he been in the right sort of mood, he would have gone over to flirt with them.

Today, however, he wants simply to have a drink with his best friend and he is about to turn back and tell her this, when the man who had been ordering the drinks, turns back to face his friends.

It is his eyes, the childlike wonder and the kindly nature contained within that organ, rather than anything else that stirs recognition in his heart…

…that has him pushing his way over to the other.

"Billy!"

Those eyes focus onto him and for the briefest instant there is confusion clear within them.

Then the other is smiling and he is caught into a hug…

…is crushed hard against the familiar scent of the other's skin.

Billy releases him and, after a round of introductions, he settles them down a little from his companions.

"So what brings you to London?"

"Work and Rosie…she kept insisting that she'd be fine on her own but I knew she was only saying it out of misplaced guilt."

"Rosie?"

"The blonde sat on her own to your left." He remarked as he gestured to his flatmate. "We were on the same course at uni and a friendship blossomed over the fabric swatches. We'd come out tonight to celebrate the fact that she's finally 'gotten the guy'."

"I see." There is a long moment of silence and then Billy says, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Not writing."

"I understand, you'd moved on with your life..."

"That wasn't it." The other is not quite looking at him now, something he knows is for embarrassment rather than because he feared being caught in a lie, "I tried to write to you so many times…there's a draw in my room filled with unsent letters…everything I wrote felt empty.

"You were my best friend Michael…were the only one other than Mrs Wilkinson who had faith in me right from the start.

"That and…"

He is blushing now and he looks so much as he had the last they'd seen one another that he finds himself falling in love all over again.

"After being out here for a while away from the expectations of my family, from the oppression of that environment, I realised how foolish I had been…

"Realised what my closed min had almost lost me." He smiles then, the wide smile that had graced his features always when he'd first begun to dance, and tangling their hands together he remarks,

"I went home for Christmas two years ago with the thought of apologising to you and telling you the truth.

"When dad told me you'd left, that no one knew quite where you'd gone to…I thought you'd forgotten me, that you'd move on with your life and so I decided to try and be happy with things as they were."

"And now?"

"Now it seems I've been given another chance." The other leans forward then, his hand lifting to tangle into his hair and then he is again kissing him.

This is not, however, as the chaste touch of their childhood, but rather as the impassioned touch of a lover.

"I love you." The other remarks once they've separated.

Now is most likely the time to use a little common sense, to slow things down in order to give them chance to get to know on another again and yet…

Hips lips are tingling still for the pressure of the other's upon them and that breathy confession has set a fire in his stomach.

Thus he ignores the voice of reason and, smiling from the heart of him, he responds,

"I love you also."

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T: R+R…is all I have to say!


End file.
